


Particular Hungers

by voxofthevoid



Series: Thicker than Blood [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Vampires, Bottom!Hannibal, Developing Relationship, Does not follow canon storyline/timeline, Frottage, Hand Job, Hannibal smells nice… must be all the people food, Hannigram - Freeform, He also lacks any morality whatsoever, I need to stop making tags, M/M, Oral Sex, Top!Will, Vampire!Will, Vampire-Human Relationship, Will is neither fragile nor unstable, aren’t they always?, bamf!will, blood drinking during sex, dubious consent at end, everyone else is human, human!hannibal, just so we’re clear, monologues, more tags will be added, mutual obsession, no angst i promise, people are food, perverted scenting from both parties, predator-prey stuff, this is less romantic and more possessive/obsessive, vampire!Abigail shows up in chapter 7, vampires.DO.NOT.sparkle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2147883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will finds life, and the prospect of a lonely eternity that stretches out before him, to be terribly dull. That is, until he comes across a human who is far too tempting for his own good. </p><p> <br/><i> Blood, death and darkness.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>The scent is strong, intoxicating and Will nearly abandons the illusion of humanity that he maintains- has maintained for over a millennium- as a familiar thirst rises inside him, scalding his throat and sending borrowed blood rushing through his veins.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Dr Hannibal Lecter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The man tells him with a deceptively friendly smile that hides the monster underneath, not a true one like Will, but something that is utterly unique to the plague that is the human race. </i></p><p> </p><p> <i>A specific brand of madness.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. blood, death and darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Entity_Sylvir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entity_Sylvir/gifts).



> Cause she's amazing :-)
> 
> Something non-angsty for a change. Enjoy!

Blood, death and darkness.

The scent is strong, _intoxicating_  and Will nearly abandons the illusion of humanity that he maintains- has maintained for over a millennium- as a familiar thirst rises inside him, scalding his throat and sending borrowed blood rushing through his veins.

It is a struggle to keep his fangs sheathed as a warm hand closes around his own cool one, the faint feel of the human doctor’s pulse under his skin combining with the heady aroma permeating the air to further test him. The fact that he fed just yesterday and the girl’s blood was still warming him from the inside seems so very insignificant in the face of such _temptation_.

“Dr Hannibal Lecter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The man tells him with a deceptively friendly smile that hides the monster underneath, not a true one like Will, but something that is utterly unique to the plague that is the human race.

A specific brand of madness.

“Agent William Graham. Will.” He replies, voice betraying none of the turmoil inside him. He returns the smile with a smirk of his own as the doctor’s hand leaves his. He shoots Jack a look over his shoulder and has to fight down laughter at the look of unadulterated relief on his face. He is so pleased that Will isn’t being too difficult about all this and completely unaware that he was enlisting the assistance of someone who is most certainly one of the killers the BAU is so dedicated to hunting.

Will has seen far too much in his time to believe in coincidence. So perhaps, this is _fate._

Still, taking Jack’s ignorance into account, his reaction is understandable given how unenthusiastic and downright hostile Will was about this idea. He still is actually, but the utterly delectable scent emanating from the psychiatrist Dr Lecter has significantly altered his intentions within the span of a few seconds.

He’s always been something of a slave to his _cravings._

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Jack announces with a terse smile and disappears out of the waiting room before either of them can react. He very carefully does not look at Will as he does so. 

Will shakes his head in mild exasperation.

“Shall we?” Lecter asks him the moment they're alone, gesturing towards the office.

Will acquiesces with a curt nod and they head inside. He subtly draws in a deep breath as he passes by the doctor, savoring it properly now that the first shock of his thirst has passed. This time, he’s able to identify the reason behind the extraordinary appeal of the scent and is genuinely surprised, which is something that doesn’t happen often.

Hannibal Lecter is not the first cannibal he’s encountered. But the last one stumbled across Will several centuries ago and though his taste was quite _remarkable_ , Will does not remember his scent being this good, to the point of being overwhelming. 

He stops breathing altogether for a while lest he lose his already tenuous restraint and quickly settles himself on one of the plush black chairs, keenly observing the human as he takes the one opposite Will. Even with his vivid imagination, he can’t imagine Lecter savagely tearing into humans and gorging himself on their flesh. No, he has the air of one who would turn even cannibalism into something elegant. 

_How lovely._

It seems therapy isn’t going to be as dull as he expected.

“What would you like to talk about, Will?” Lecter asks him, voice clam and friendly. It probably sounds quite sincere to others but it’s all too easy for Will to pick up the faint notes of boredom in it.

 _I’d like to know why you eat people. And how_. Will muses silently, wondering if such a response would alleviate the human’s tedium.

“I’m sure you are already aware that I don’t particularly want to be here, doctor.” He drawls, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and lets out a weary sigh that he’s perfected a very long time ago. He doesn’t see the need to mention how his opinion has now changed. “So I can’t say I’m particularly interested in talking about anything. But for Jack’s sake, let’s discuss the incident that landed me here in the first place.”

Lecter seems unfazed by his attitude and he’s as calm as before when he speaks.

“And what incident would that be?”

“Don’t you already know?”

“I would like to hear it from you.”

“I killed a man.” Will states before the other can fully complete his sentence and gets a slow blink in response. “We were chasing after a murderer- a serial killer- and I shot him. It was only meant to incapacitate but he shifted and it tore up his heart.”

He’s not lying. The shot really was meant only to incapacitate. Guns were such a waste when there were so many other, wonderful ways to kill.

Lecter’s lack of a proper reaction is enough evidence that none of this is news to him. And he’s still bored.

What’s to be done about that?

“You’ve never taken a life before.” Lecter tells him, and the sympathy on his face is mild enough not to be annoying but convincing enough that most would not see it as the perfectly crafted mask it is. “That can be a very traumatizing experience. So, why do you think that you do not require therapy?”

_Because, human, I’ve killed more if your kind than I care to count._

“I don’t _think_ I don’t require therapy, Dr Lecter. I know I don’t. I’m neither traumatized nor drowning in guilt. I’m not happy I made a mistake but the only reason I’m here is because Jack won’t let me return to work otherwise.”

And he would like to return to work. Profiling for the BAU provides him with the most entertainment he’s had in a very long time. It’d be pity to lose it.

Of course he’s aware that his answers are hardly aiding him in that goal but for now, he’s much more interested in drawing a reaction out of Lecter than establishing his sanity. He has a feeling that this one’s response will differ rather drastically from those of ordinary psychiatrists.

Something akin to interest flashes in Lecter’s eyes and he leans forward just a little, finally focusing fully on Will.

He takes another deep breath, unable to help himself, and runs his tongue over his bottom lip when his canines ache with _need_ as his cannibal therapist’s scent assaults him once again. 

“That is an unusual reaction, Will. To treat murder so callously.”

Will lets his lips curl into a small smile.

“Perhaps. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

Lecter only nods serenely as if Will’s answer is completely normal but despite the nonchalance, he can see something not wholly _normal_ peer out from behind dark eyes to regard Will with curiosity.

“Tell me, Will, what exactly do you do for the F.B.I?”

“I catch killers.” Will replies simply and bares his teeth in a feral grin before adding the rest, “By thinking like them.”

And Lecter, he can see, is hooked.

The creature in Will purrs in pleasure.


	2. a strange fascination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will weighs his options. Basically, Will thinks… a lot.
> 
>  
> 
> _Throughout the years, there were a handful of humans that garnered his attention only to end up dead at his feet when his interest waned and was replaced by hunger._
> 
>  
> 
> _But Hannibal Lecter was different._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set two weeks after the first chapter.

Will has never had much respect for humans. His memories of his own humanity were practically nonexistent, washed away by time despite his body’s resistance to its passage. It was the same for most of his kind. Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, he'd see glimpses of faces and lands; vague things for which he felt no residual affection. He doesn’t really mourn its absence, not when he is so perfectly content with his monstrosity.

The woman who’d turned him- Molly- was much more sympathetic towards humans and the disparities in their natures caused them to part a mere century after Will’s becoming.

Throughout the years, there were a handful of humans that garnered his attention only to end up dead at his feet when his interest waned and was replaced by _hunger_.

But Hannibal Lecter was _different_.

It’s no longer simply about the scent though, because if that were the case, Lecter would be dead already. 

Will doesn’t know if it’s the cannibalism or the psychopathy or the pure darkness in the man that _calls_ to him so strongly, but every single session with Lecter is a trial for him; the temptation to just tear into the graceful curve of his neck and gorge himself on his blood great enough to be a troublesome distraction. Lecter’s attitude doesn’t quite help matter either. His fascination with Will’s empathy and uncanny ability to delve into the most depraved minds humanity has to offer often results in their conversations being purposefully led to morbid waters that does little to shift Will’s attention from how it would feel to have Lecter go cold and limp under his hands and teeth.

And yet, he finds himself reluctant to kill the man just yet, not when his company is so exceptional when compared to the men and women Will has endured before. His interactions with the human are highly stimulating; Lecter’s mind a sharp, brilliant thing driven by a dangerous sort of curiosity that leads men to do either great or terrible things. It’s obviously the latter with the doctor but despite his expertise with killers, Will can’t quite figure out this one. There is a story behind him, he’s sure. After all, cannibalism is not a choice one makes lightly, not in this era. But though he _can_ read Lecter to an extent, enough to see the emotions and reactions he keeps hidden under that meticulous persona, it’s not enough for him to truly _see_ the monster in the man. It’s equally frustrating and fascinating.

And he’s not used to being so… conflicted.

The last time someone invoked a reaction even half this intense in Will was nearly three hundred years ago. Abigail was a sweet girl on the outside, her father’s pride and joy. Inside, she was as hard as steel, concerned about ensuring her survival with a single minded focus that was rare enough in adults let alone a mere child. Will was impressed by her when he met her, intrigued actually for some time. Even then, he'd come perilously close to killing her before changing his mind. The decision to turn Abigail was impulsive, born of a curiosity to see how that small seed of darkness in her would manifest with her humanity stripped away from her.

She was grateful to Will, relieved at being ‘saved’ from her father Garret when he finally decided that killing lookalikes of his only child were not enough and turned on her. Although she was much less thrilled about her new existence forcing her to actually kill instead of just assisting in murder. But her ruthless practicality saw her through that _difficulty_ as well.

In Will’s opinion, she adjusted rather well. Though he was- and still is- much less pleased about her decision to replace her dead human father with Will despite her fear of him.

But even that situation doesn’t really compare to the present one. Of course, this will only ever end in Lecter’s death one way or the other, but for once, Will is not sure how long it will be before that happens. His fascination only seems keep on increasing with every moment spent in the doctor’s presence.

And so, as much as the most primitive part of him wants to just give in to his nature and _take_ , the rest of him wants to keep Lecter around for a while longer.

Frustrating and fascinating indeed.

Perhaps he should simply wait and see where all this leads him, and enjoy the doctor’s company while it lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the length. The sole purpose of this chapter is to explain why Will hasn’t gnawed on Hannibal yet. There’s some back-story as a bonus.


	3. a present wrapped in blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will figures it out and is impressed. There’s inappropriate appreciation of murder, inappropriate use of dead bodies and indirect compliments for some fucked up shit in this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> _If Will didn’t have nearly thirteen centuries under his belt and the temperance that came with it, he'd have laughed to his heart’s content then and there._
> 
>  
> 
> _Or pinned Lecter to the ground and drained him dry._
> 
>  
> 
> _Both are justifiable reactions, given this discovery._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 5 weeks after the previous chapter.

_I sew his eyes shut while he still breathes, delighting in the sweetness of his screams. No one else will hear him. We’re alone here; an artist and his canvas._

_I tear him apart with practiced ease, slicing him open to take what I need. What is left will be elevated to art. Beauty from filth._

_I am careful with him, every touch and cut orchestrated with minute focus. He will be perfect, even more so than usual. Because he is special._

_He is a melody, a performance._

_And a test._

_Can you_ see _me?_

Will’s eyes flutter open with a faint sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as pleasure curls deep in the hollow of his chest. It is often vexing, this process of immersing himself into human minds. More than once, he’s been left with a foul taste in his mouth from how utterly revolting some of those minds were, driven solely by base instincts and lacking any finesse whatsoever. Of course, he’s always rinsed off that taste with blood and fear and death. A truly _lovely_ combination.

But then something like _this_ comes along and makes it all worth it, filling his mind with beauty so intense that he finds himself surprised that the hands which created it are human and not _Other_.

_The Chesapeake Ripper._

A living nightmare that has terrorized Baltimore for years. A serial killer with a flair for the dramatic and the macabre.

Even behavioral specialists call him a monster. Will thinks he’s a genius.

He hears Jack before he smells him and doesn’t move from where he’s standing in the middle of the field, hooded eyes fixed intently on the corpse tied to the tree a few feet in front of him, as the agent comes to stand beside him. But then, a second scent hits him like a lightning bolt, a familiar, rapacious hunger spreading through him like the sweetest of poisons.

_Lecter. Why are you here?_

Will turns and is not surprised to find two sets of eyes trained on him but his own are drawn to the imperial form of his doctor. Lecter smiles in greeting, a miniscule curl of thin lips that is entirely genuine unlike the generic expressions he wore during their first session.

“Is it him, Will?” Jack asks, his impatience evident in his tone. His entire body radiates tension. It must be so frustrating for him to have such a prolific killer haunting his turf.

“Yes, it’s the Chesapeake Ripper. Finally showing up after over a year of absence. Quite the comeback too.”

He’s sure that Jack is far from pleased with his flippant praise but as usual, the man doesn’t bother correcting him. He’s long since given up on trying to control Will like the rest of his ‘underlings’. But his attention remains resolutely fixed on Lecter, less because of the doctor’s sudden presence in a crime scene than the dark glint in his eyes as he stares right back at Will, a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

That isn’t entirely strange, given how curious the man is about what he refers to as Will’s ‘empathy disorder’- it is always a struggle to hold back his derisive snort whenever Lecter uses that term- but something tells him that there is more going on behind those murky brown orbs than a brilliant murderer’s dangerous fascination with an ability that may prove detrimental to his very existence.

Lecter’s gaze is _hungry_ ; eager and intense in a way that makes Will want to-   he stops that train of thought right there, sharply twisting away from the humans to focus on the body once again.

Will knows that the doctor’s reaction is so obvious only to him, that were it not for his nature, he'd see nothing but professional interest in those glacial eyes. He shakes off the thought of how it’d be like to see that piercing gaze gloss over with pleasure before fading away into nothingness with some difficulty and forces his mind to interpret the reason behind it.

An idea starts to form and Will cocks his head to the side as he carefully takes in the ruined pile of flesh and bone before him.

The man was young, mid-twenties perhaps, and now barely recognizable as something that was once human. Eyes sewn shut, the skin of his arms and legs removed to expose the gleaming scarlet of his muscles, his entire torso split open and cleaned out, organs replaced with a variety of flowers.

Belladonna. Clematis. Foxgloves. Azaleas. Wisteria.

_Poisonous. Synonymous to how his killer saw his life._

A performance.

And a test.

_Can you see me?_

If Will didn’t have nearly thirteen centuries under his belt and the temperance that came with it, he'd have laughed to his heart’s content then and there.

Or pinned Lecter to the ground and drained him dry.

Both are justifiable reactions, given this discovery.

His middle-aged, composure-personified psychopathic therapist with blood that _sang_ to him is none other than the Chesapeake Ripper. And he performed for Will, to find out if his empathy could _see_ the macabre artist that lurked beneath that polished exterior.

_How sweet._

“Tell me what you see, Will?” His reverie is interrupted by Jack, his timing as atrocious as ever.

“I will. But first, tell me what you’re doing here Dr Lecter?”

“I’m here on Jack’s behest.” Lecter replies, utterly calm. “He thought a fresh perspective could be useful. After all, the Ripper seems to be quite elusive.”

Will’s gaze flickers to Jack’s discomfited expression once before settling on Lecter. “Oh, he is. In fact, I’d very much like to know what coaxed him out into the open so abruptly.”

“You have a theory?” Lecter’s mask is perfect, the man visibly unaffected by being present in a crime scene of his own making. The sly, excited gleam in his eyes is hidden to all but Will.

“I think he Ripper was … inspired.” He rolls he word on his tongue, softly caressing each syllable. “Something or perhaps _someone_ has caught his attention. This is a performance dedicated to the source of that inspiration. He’s curious to see what reaction this will elicit.”

Lecter’s eyes darken ever so slightly.

Jack asks a few inane, predictable questions and stalks off to confer with his favorite protégé, Miriam, when Will’s answers don’t magically reveal the killer’s identity. That man just couldn’t appreciate the flawless precision and sheer brilliance of the Ripper’s- Lecter’s - design despite the fact that it was right here, before his very eyes.

Humans could be so pitifully blind at times.

Lecter moves a little closer to Will after Jack leaves and his voice reflects nothing more than mere curiosity when he asks, “Tell me, Will, how do you see the Chesapeake Ripper?”

_Narcissist._

“He is a wolf among sheep.” Will replies simply, simultaneously basking in the sweet torment of the human’s scent and the darkness pulsing deep inside his soul. “An apex predator.”

Lecter practically preens. Subtly of course.

_But there are always bigger and better predators out there, Hannibal Lecter._

Will smirks at him and only just stops himself from baring a little _too much_ teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the vamps in this doesn’t go ‘poof’ in sunlight. Couldn’t cram that into this kinda compressed story though. Sorry. Maybe I’ll write a one-shot explaining Will’s vampirism after I finish this.
> 
> And yes, Miriam is still alive. Why? Because I have alternative uses for the ‘Wound Man’. ;-)


	4. prey, predator… who’s who really?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another therapy session. Hannibal smells Will and ends up a tad bit confused. 
> 
>  
> 
> _He’s certain that it gives the doctor a great amount of pleasure to interact with Will, providing him with unconditional understanding, accepting his mind and its quirks with curiosity instead of revulsion, knowing full well that there is no one else in the world that will do the same. And Will supposes that if he were a human starved for connection, then that easy acceptance would have been more than enough to seduce him, to lure him towards Lecter like a helpless moth to a particularly bright flame._
> 
>  
> 
> _But Will is not human, he will never feel the way humans can and what he has for Lecter is most certainly not the tender affection the man is probably hoping to cultivate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 3 weeks after the previous chapter.

“I’m curious, Dr Lecter, about how much longer these sessions will have to continue.” Will throws the human a quick look over his shoulder before turning back to gently trace the defined shape of an ebony stag statuette with the tips of his fingers. It’s a rather lovely piece of work, one that’s imbued a certain savagery into the creature.

“Do you wish for them to end, Will?” Lecter retorts in a calm voice that effectively hides the displeasure Will knows the idea rouses in him. “I suppose it is not exactly necessary to continue. After all, you’ve already returned to the field and we are both aware of the fact that your mishap has not affected you in any worrisome ways.”

_Ah, but most would consider my utter lack of concern quite worrying. But of course, you’re not most people, are you?_

As a matter of fact, no other psychiatrist would have allowed Will to return to work, not with the way he acted. Although, his behavior _was_ one calculated to appeal to Lecter and draw his interest. And it worked quite spectacularly.

Will pretends to mull over the words for some time, inwardly amused at how Lecter behaves as if he will not try his damnest to find a way to get Will back in therapy with him if he were to opt out now. This one did love his little games.

He turns around so that he can see Lecter, sitting on his usual chair with his hands folded neatly in his lap, wearing an expression of neutral concern. Will’s lips twist into a smirk, not missing the way Lecter’s eyes track the motion.

“And if I want to continue?”

The other man blinks and while his face does not change, pure delight flickers in his eyes for a moment before it is hidden away. Will wonders if it’s his empathy or the pale glimpses of his own true nature that he has allowed the doctor that has captivated the man so. Perhaps it is a mixture of both. The human desire to be understood can be quite a driving force, especially in those who are so unique that they are a world apart from their peers. And Lecter, for all his fascinating monstrosity, is very much _human_.

He’s certain that it gives the doctor a great amount of pleasure to interact with Will; providing him with unconditional understanding, accepting his mind and its quirks with curiosity instead of revulsion, knowing full well that there is no one else in the world that will do the same. And Will supposes that if he were a human starved for _connection_ , then that easy acceptance would have been more than enough to seduce him, to lure him towards Lecter like a helpless moth to a particularly bright flame.

But Will is not human, he will never _feel_ the way humans can and what he has for Lecter is most certainly not the tender affection the man is probably hoping to cultivate.

And he wonders how Lecter will react when he realizes that he’s been the prey all along.

“I am not at all averse to the idea. Although I must admit that these sessions now feel less like therapy and more like a series of conversations.” Lecter says, leveling an expectant glance at Will, silently demanding an ultimately unnecessary answer to a question voiced as a statement.

Will decides to indulge him.

“I find it helpful to discuss the cases with you. Your perspective is interesting and… refreshing.” Not wholly a lie. Lecter’s mind truly is something. He would like to take it apart one day; wade into those cavernous depths and learn the intricacies of such a talented creature.

Lecter smiles, allowing some of his pleasure to show on his face this time around, perhaps fearing that no reaction would discourage Will just as the full extent of it would scare him away.

_Such fine control. What will you be like, I wonder, when I strip you of it all?_

“I am very glad to hear that, Will.”

Will nods in response and lazily makes his way over to the doctor’s desk, aware of the dark eyes that keenly follow his every move. With the way the man’s eyes always seem to linger on him to the point of being _rude_ , Will has to consider that Lecter’s interest in him extends beyond just his mind.

That would be an interesting avenue to explore. One with such a delectable array of _possibilities_.

A drawing on the desk catches his eye and Will pauses to peruse it. He finds himself admiring a surprisingly accurate rendering of the Sistine Chapel, the glorious structure brought to life by precise strokes of charcoal. The details of the sketch almost perfectly match the ones in Will’s memories, still pristine despite the fact that his last visit to Italy was nearly two hundred years ago.

_A man of many talents._

Will doesn’t take his eyes off the picture even when Lecter slides into place near him, his movements fairly silent for a human.

“I didn’t know you could draw.” Will says, tilting his head a little to glance at the doctor from the corner of his eyes.

“It’s a very productive way of passing time.” Lecter replies. Will wonders, with a great deal of amusement, how this man found time for such mundane hobbies amidst what must be a hectic schedule. He is quite positive that murdering people (and occasionally setting up elaborate displays with the bodies) in between his work and personal life must be quite time-consuming. And unlike Will, he’s human, and must sleep at _some_ point.

He smiles when Lecter moves to stand a little closer to Will than is strictly inappropriate, both pleased and entertained by the doctor's obvious _interest_ in him but to his shock, Lecter leans in and _sniffs_ him, not even bothering to be surreptitious about it. Will stiffens in a way that is unique to his kind, caught off guard by the strange gesture.

Will himself subtly scents the air and is immediately assaulted by the now familiar heavenly scent that _assures_ him that Lecter is completely human.

The needless confirmation only serves to add to his befuddlement over the doctor’s decidedly abnormal action.

“Did you just smell me?” Will asks and whips around, an eyebrow raised in question, and finds himself face-to-face with a very confused Hannibal Lecter.

Said confusion is visible only in the miniscule furrow between his brows and the slight tilt of his head but on Lecter that is the equivalent of wide-eyed gaping. He quickly schools his expression though, much to Will’s disappointment.

“Difficult to avoid,” Lecter tells him, calm and entirely unapologetic. “I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave.”

_You think you can talk your way out of pretty much anything, don’t you?_

Will just shrugs and flashes him a sly grin, making no effort to hide his skepticism at the excuse. He _is_ curious to know what Lecter smelled under the lousy, but strong, aftershave that confused him so.

The rusty scent of fresh blood that always seemed to cling to the skin of his kind?

If only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal actually did get a vague whiff of the bloody scent, hence his confusion. However, Will is unaware of Hannibal’s heightened olfactory sense.


	5. a natural progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has Will over for dinner. Of course, it leads to more. And it’s completely normal to think about killing the man you’re kissing, right? 
> 
> _They wash the dishes together afterwards- Will insisting and not because of politeness- and it isn’t long before lingering glances and inviting smiles shift into blatant flirting. Will has no doubt that Hannibal knows he is all too aware of the fact that he invited him over with every intention of seducing him. Still, he wonders how this extraordinary man would react if he were to realize precisely what he is courting._
> 
> _Will waits until they’re out of the kitchen before pushing Hannibal to the nearest wall and taking his lips with his own, curling a hand around the nape of his neck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 4 weeks after the previous chapter. 
> 
> A longer chapter. Note the new tags.

There is unconcealed pride in Hannibal’s voice as he describes the menu to Will in a blend of English and perfect French, not even a hint of false modesty tainting his words. He can’t blame him, not when the smell emanating from the fare is so enticing, a variety of exotic flavors mingling into something wonderful at the hands of an undoubtedly skilled cook.

Pity it holds no appeal whatsoever for Will.

He can appreciate the aroma and he imagines that humans would find it to be quite a luscious fare but none of it stirs even the slightest bit of hunger in Will. He knows that all of it will taste bland and flavorless to him, his palette evolved in a way that allows him to truly taste one thing only.

Blood.

He can ingest normal food but he cannot taste it nor will his body be able to process any of it. Eventually, it’ll have to be removed from inside him, one way or another. It’s all a terrible waste and fairly bothersome.

Yet, he accepted Hannibal’s- it seemed ridiculous to continue to refer to the man as _Lecter_  when such increasingly intimate thoughts of him plagued Will day and night- invitation with little hesitation when the man asked him after one of their weekly ‘therapy’ sessions. It was an extremely unorthodox move on the doctor’s part, bordering on unethical, but Will was simply amused, both by the offer and the not-so-platonic undertone to it.

If Hannibal wants to feed him human meat, then so be it.

The dinner itself is a dull affair owing to Will’s nature but the company is anything but. Will eats the food that tastes no different from air to him with a smile and offers convincing compliments that brings a pleased tilt to the human’s lips. But for Will, the real fun comes from watching Hannibal eat; it is quite the sight to behold and though he is sure that some of it is a deliberate performance for his sake, he appreciates it nonetheless.

He has always been somewhat enamored by certain visceral pleasures. And Hannibal is most assuredly not found lacking.

Will is quite eager to _appreciate_  him to the best of his ability, in more ways than one.

They wash the dishes together afterwards- Will insisting and not because of politeness- and it isn’t long before lingering glances and inviting smiles shift into blatant flirting. Will has no doubt that Hannibal knows he is all too aware of the fact that he invited him over with every intention of seducing him. Still, he wonders how this extraordinary man would react if he were to realize precisely _what_  he is courting.

Will patiently waits until they’re out of the kitchen before pushing Hannibal to the nearest wall and taking his lips with his own, curling a hand around the nape of his neck. Hannibal remains frozen for a moment, caught off guard, but recovers quickly to kiss him back, twining his arms around him.

He tastes like flesh and blood and sinful temptation.

Hannibal smirks against his mouth and he knows without looking that it is one of triumph, of having snared what he must assume to be prey. Will responds by pushing him further against the wall, devouring the smile off his lips.

He didn’t originally intend to do more than kiss and leave the rest for a later date, in part curious to see what further steps Hannibal would take to lure Will to him, but this close the human’s scent clouds his senses and he finds himself hungrily trailing his mouth down the other’s chin to his neck, sucking and licking at the so _very_  delicate skin there as if to taste the blood that runs so tantalizingly close underneath. Hannibal groans and tightens his hold when Will grabs a fistful of his hair to yank his head further back, exposing the graceful curve of his neck.

It would be easy- so easy- to take him right there, open and vulnerable and blissfully unaware of the way Will _hungers_ for him. So very easy to sink his teeth down into the flesh presented so eagerly to him. Hannibal wouldn’t even feel any pain, would not even resist really; he'd enjoy it, caught up in the heady rush of endorphins triggered by vampire saliva. He would feel only, pure, mind-numbing pleasure right up to the moment he feels nothing at all. He would be _exquisite_ , Will knows, far superior to any human he’s had before.

And he is _ravenous._

But then that would be the end. No more 7 ‘o’ clock Friday sessions, no more morbid poetry on the inexplicable beauty of death, no more covert glances colored with a fascination so intense that it borders on obsession, no more Chesapeake Ripper, no more masterful tableaus. No more Hannibal Lecter.

Such a _waste._

Will pulls back with a final nip, not an easy task by any means, and finds himself staring at a thoroughly debauched version of the perpetually immaculate man he has come to know. Hannibal’s eyes are wide, pupils blown from lust and something like surprise and his face is flushed a pale red, lips swollen and nearly crimson. His collar and tie are skewed from how Will pulled at it to get to his throat and his neck is covered in bright suck marks that will bruise black and blue by the morning.

The sight affects him more powerfully than he anticipated and the hunger Will forced down rises with overwhelming strength and an entirely different course.

Ravenous. In more ways than one.

He isn’t entirely sure who moves first- he’s all but drunk on a myriad of sensations- but suddenly, they’re back on each other, kissing with lips and tongues and teeth; a rough, graceless thing that only serves to feed his frenzy. Will grinds his hips towards Hannibal’s, pleased to find him hard and happily swallows his human’s gasp at the contact. It may not compare to the feast he is denying himself but Hannibal’s mouth is addictive in its own right. He thrusts in deeper, his body and tongue moving in a harsh, furious rhythm that has Hannibal squirming in his grasp, the sounds escaping him raw and vulgar in comparison to his usual eloquence.

Will wants to devour this man. Over and over, until every inch of him is _his._

The thought breaks through to his mindless rutting, not enough to give him pause, but enough to make him consider for the first time that Hannibal is _dangerous_  to him in a way that no creature has ever been before and is unlikely to be in the future. He stirs in Will a raging need to _possess._

It is exhilarating, this knowledge, and Will’s breath leaves him in a low growl as he sucks hard on the other man’s tongue, his teeth scraping along the muscle. He draws back to press his face against Hannibal’s cheek, catching his earlobe with his lips and tugging.

He truly did not expect the night to lead to the two of them pressed together like a pair of human teenagers ( _he cannot even remember a time when he was that young_ ) in Hannibal’s dining room but he’s far too enamored by the carnality of the moment to care. Neither does Hannibal, it seems, not with the way he’s clawing at Will and snapping his hips forward, lips peeled back from gritted teeth as he struggles to keep quiet.

He stills abruptly and splays a hand over the side of Hannibal’s hips to stop him as well. He allows the human a moment to catch his breath before unfastening his pants with nimble fingers and shoving it down along with his underwear to free his erection.

Hannibal speaks then, voice low and husky, “Will, wait. The bedroom-”

His words are cut off by a strangled moan when Will starts to stroke him, running his fingers teasingly down the silky skin pulled taut over Hannibal’s flushed length.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Hannibal.” He breathes and the man’s eyes flutter close when Will fists him and starts working him in earnest, smearing precome over the tip of the head. Hannibal throws back his head and arches into the touch, making more of those lovely noises that has Will stroking him even faster. He buries his head in the hollow of his throat, mouthing at his racing pulse, torturing himself more and more with his heady scent and the promise of bliss that lies _just_  beneath.

Hannibal comes with a bit-off curse ( _Lithuanian?_ ), painting Will’s hands and clothes with pearly white stripes as his fingers dig in hard to the clothed flesh of his back. He slumps forward after, clutching at Will and panting hotly into his ear. Will holds him securely and strokes his hair with a hand, greedily breathing in the combined scent of sex and blood. He’s hard, almost painfully so, and the potent aroma saturating the air only serves to make his cock throb in need, his body demanding satisfaction at least in this.

He waits patiently until Hannibal’s breath turns relatively normal before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pushing the startled human to his knees. Hannibal looks up at him, eyes still wide and black, lips red and parted sensually. It’s a beautiful sight; one that makes him want to descend on the man with the full force of his _craving._

Will doesn’t say anything as he holds the other’s gaze, still gripping his hair.

Hannibal keeps his eyes locked on Will’s as he slowly, carefully pushes his jeans down to his ankles before leaning forward to press a kiss to the head of his cock. There’s a hint of reluctance in his eyes, not at the act itself but at letting Will wield the control over their activities. Yet he’s enjoying this as well and there is no real resistance in him, just a vague hesitance that is probably the result of a near-pathological need for _control._ The moment he gives in is marked by his lips sliding over Will’s cock, taking him in about halfway while still gazing up at him.

Will takes a moment to simply enjoy the view; Hannibal looks so much younger like this, with his hair falling forward in a sodden mess and his swollen lips stretched wide over Will’s girth. His mouth feels amazing, hot and working expertly around the shaft inside. Will relishes the slow, torturous motions for a while, eyes half-closed in pleasure and sucking in mouthfuls of intoxicating pheromones, before he smiles down at Hannibal, tightening his hold on his hair in warning before snapping his hips forward, driving his cock into the kneeling human’s mouth and down his throat in a single, smooth push. He ignores the way the man gags and sputters around him, ruthlessly fucking into his mouth with quick, hard thrusts and his own eyes fully slip close at the wonderful sensations rippling through his body. He braces the hand not resting on Hannibal’s hair on the wall, smearing the spotless surface with the human’s ejaculate.

It takes a fair amount of effort to keep his true strength in check. Powerful as Hannibal is, human bodies are so very _fragile_  when compared to that of vampires. And he honestly does not want to break this man, not now, not when he’s so-

Will throws his head back with a snarled scream as Hannibal rakes his hands down his bared thighs, blunt nails leaving behind red welts that heal far too fast for his liking. He continues to claw at Will with barely contained violence, his throat constricting rhythmically around Will’s length.

He finishes soon after, his climax tearing through his body and forcing a ragged cry from him as he comes down Hannibal’s throat.

He pulls out immediately, leaning more against the wall to regain his equilibrium. Hannibal remains on the floor, mouth open and gasping for breath. There are tears staining his face and he looks an absolute _mess._

Will memorizes the image. He has a feeling he’s not going to forget this sight any time soon. Not in the next millennium at least.

He drops to his knees in front of Hannibal and kisses him hard and deep, humming in pleasure at his answering groan. A part of Will, distanced from the pleasure thrumming through his body and mind, wonders if Hannibal noticed how his body and even his semen is somewhat cold when compared to that of humans and hopes it will not lead to any pesky questions that he may not be able to answer.

He releases Hannibal’s mouth to lick at the tears drying on his cheek and finds himself disappointed that he cannot _taste_  them. He pulls away with a final peck to Hannibal’s lips and finds him watching with tired, half-closed eyes. His gaze flickers to the pale, inviting curve of his throat, littered as it is with _Will’s_ marks. And in spite of his sated appetite, he finds himself working his tongue against the sharp tip of his canines, resisting the urge to let them lengthen into full fangs.

It seems like his decision not to kill Hannibal was not really going to change how much he _wants_ to. But he has managed to contain himself so far. And he will just have to continue to do so.

He’s about to get up and leave, though reluctantly, when Hannibal speaks, his accent thick and his voice rough.

“We should get cleaned up. Bathroom’s upstairs.”

Will smiles, surprised but pleased.

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the more I write this, the more I wish that I could develop this fic into a full-blown AU instead of just these vignettes. 
> 
> Also, allow me to say once again that I am no expert at writing smut.


	6. carnal desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feeds. And fantasizes about killing Hannibal while he’s at it. Yeah, these two have a _totally_ normal relationship. Right. 
> 
>  
> 
> _And Hannibal, who would remain silent and seething until then, would cry out at that. Not in pain, never that, but in ecstasy as twisted biology forces him to feel overwhelming pleasure even as his very life is sucked out of him by a greedy mouth. Will would like to hear that, the sweet symphony of his screams when every insipid barrier in that brilliant mind is broken down and swept away. He’d like to hear Hannibal whimper helplessly, just once, before going still and silent in his arms._
> 
>  
> 
> _Will can imagine it all, can feel these seductive thoughts snaking under his skin and sinking into his bones but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot imagine the taste._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 2 weeks after the previous chapter.

Will likes to hunt. 

Vampires are natural predators, one of the most dangerous in existence. With enhanced senses, strength, speed, uncanny intuition and the ability to heal from even the most fatal injuries, their bodies are the perfect weapons. 

Which is why it makes so little sense that their intended prey are so _weak_. 

Molly never did share his disappointment over this fact but perhaps that was because her ‘kind’ method of gently seducing her victims before draining them left both human and vampire sated, the former generally not even aware of what was happening until the very end. It was what she did to Will as well, though he was lucky enough to have enamored her in return, causing her to turn him instead of killing him. She did so hoping for a mate. Only, she was disappointed when the vampire turned out to be much less compatible with her than his human counterpart. 

Abigail was on the opposite end of the spectrum, preferring to literally tear apart her prey, leaving behind nothing but ribbons of flesh and bones. He quite liked her method, the blind brutality a lovely contrast to her delicate appearance. He also found his ‘daughter’ to be rather beautiful covered in blood and gore, pale blue eyes glowing with manic fervor even after the red drained out of them. 

However, Will has always found himself rather disinclined to employ either of these methods. 

His proclivity lies in _hunting_ his chosen prey. 

He makes it a point to find challenging quarry, turning the hunt into a game for them both, though he supposes that it is far from amusing for the unfortunate humans he picks. He does try to give them a fighting chance at least, not out of any desire to let them live but because he likes to _earn_ his food once in a while instead of just _taking_ it. It’s still far too easy though, the humans far too frail to truly put up a fight against him. But in his years, there have been a few that made the effort worthwhile. 

_This_ is not one of those cases. 

He generally picks his victims based on what he requires of them. Tonight, he wanted an approximation of a fight, not a game, and so he picked a thug, one who seemed marginally more intelligent than his peers. It was all too easy to knock him out and leave him in the middle of the woods on his property to wake up. 

In the human’s defense, he did try. After a few precious minutes wasted hurling curses and yelling at Will- who remained out of sight in the abundant shadows but made no effort to hide his presence- the man’s fury turned into panic and he ran, strong legs eating up ground at a pace far too slow to make any difference to the one hunting him. Will chased him through the trees for a good ten minutes before he got bored and pounced. He was amused by the man’s attempts to attack him with a long, rather sharp but ultimately useless knife and by the terrified, barely coherent threats that tumbled past his lips when Will broke the weapon in half with ease. 

Now, with the brute pinned beneath him, his desperate struggles lacking the force needed to dislodge him, Will finds himself disappointed. He fought back, yes, but it was just not enough. 

Too easy. 

_Hannibal wouldn’t be easy. He would be a true challenge, a worthy prey,_  whispers a treacherous part of his mind. The notion is as dangerous as it is seductive, especially in the light of Will’s recent decision not to kill the doctor any time soon. 

But once planted, it doesn’t fade and Will’s attention shifts away from the writhing man trapped under him as images of an entirely different hunt starts to form in his mind. 

Hannibal would fight back with savage grace, abandoning his shroud of normalcy and civility to release the monster inside. Knowing him, he might actually manage to inflict some damage on Will. His lips twist into a delighted grin at the thought and his eyes slip close as he imagines the way he would hold Hannibal’s body against his own, so similar to the way he’s held the human during their many lust-driven encounters yet with the promise of death in the place of pleasure. He wouldn’t rush it, would take his time savoring him. Perhaps, he would tell Hannibal how _good_ he smells, how enticing he is to Will, how magnificent his skills are and how _deeply_ sorry Will is that their association has to come to an end. He would kiss him at the end, taste the lips he’s grown so fond of one last time before sinking his teeth into the delicate column of his neck. 

And Hannibal, who would remain silent and seething until then, would cry out at that. Not in pain, never that, but in ecstasy as twisted biology forces him to feel overwhelming pleasure even as his very life is sucked out of him by a greedy mouth. Will would like to hear that, the sweet symphony of his screams when every insipid barrier in that brilliant mind is broken down and swept away. He’d like to hear Hannibal whimper helplessly, just once, before going still and silent in his arms. 

Will can imagine it all, can feel these seductive thoughts snaking under his skin and sinking into his bones but no matter how hard he tries, he _cannot_ imagine the _taste_. 

It will be exquisite, he’s certain. 

And quite unlike the warm but bland liquid that is currently sliding down his throat to fill his body with false life. 

He pulls back from the man’s throat, equal parts surprised and exasperated at himself for how lost he was in his construction that he killed his quarry without being wholly aware of it. 

He fully rises of the human, resolutely keeping the tantalizing images lingering in his mind at bay, and is dismayed to find that he is hard. 

He has never before been sexually aroused while feeding. Excited and invigorated but never _aroused._

Will knows that he wants Hannibal as both lover and prey, but that his body’s dual cravings would merge to the point of causing a glaringly obvious physical reaction at a time when he’s feeding on some random human is almost shocking. 

He should be worried by how mere thoughts of the doctor are affecting him so. 

He truly should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Entity said, _**confused sexual murder is the best kind of murder**_. XD


	7. for the love of a daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is as obsessed as ever with Hannibal. Abigail drops by on a surprise visit and is less than pleased. Also, is that hannigram fluff I detect in here? Oh dear… 
> 
>  
> 
> _Some things, once broken, can never truly be fixed. That seems particularly true for minds, whether human or Other._
> 
>  
> 
> _And his self-proclaimed daughter is certainly broken._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 4 weeks after the previous chapter. 
> 
> And Abigail has… issues.

Neither of them speak much during the drive from Quantico to Wolf Trap and there is a strange sense of ease to the silence between them, one born of familiarity.

Five months. 

A period that should only be an instant to the timeless but to Will, it feels like an eerie eternity. 

Because even after five months, Hannibal still lives and Will’s craving for him in all ways imaginable has yet to fade. Not only that, the doctor has become a constant in nearly every aspect of his life. While their progression from patient and therapist to colleagues was defined by that moment when Hannibal showed up at his own crime scene, the shift in their relationship from mere fucking to something _warmer_ was gradual, unobtrusive and far too easy. 

The fact that Hannibal is driving him to his home- his perverse sanctuary where humans have only ever been brought as food- is quite telling in its own way. 

He has grown fond of Hannibal, both the man and the monster. The contrast between the brilliant, engaging, charming doctor and the cold-blooded sadistic murderer is one that is both beautiful and mesmerizing. In a way, he is the closest thing to perfection Will has ever found. 

He thinks that when the time comes to end this, end Hannibal, he will genuinely regret it. 

Though that knowledge does little to quell his anticipation towards the very same. 

Killing Hannibal is no longer just about his hunger or inevitability; it is about a deep, obsessive _need_ to feel this magnificent specimen of humanity fall by his hand; a final _possession_. In much the same manner, keeping Hannibal has become less about simple curiosity and allure than an actual yearning for his companionship. 

Two conflicting desires, equally intense and each disastrous in their own ways. 

“Are you staying?” Will asks the other as the Bentley pulls up in front of his modest farmhouse, firmly pushing such inopportune thoughts away for later contemplation. It seems like he thinks about little more than his human these days. If he wasn’t aware of that fact that he affected Hannibal in exactly the same way, he'd be frustrated by this invasion on his mind. 

A chorus of barks greets them from inside and Hannibal chuckles, a soft, brief sound that brings a tiny smile to Will’s face as well. 

“I’m afraid I can’t tonight,” he replies over the noise and the disappointment settling over Will’s features doesn’t have to be faked. “But I would appreciate some coffee.” 

Will nods in response and steps out of the car… only to promptly still in order to furtively take in his surroundings. 

It’s dark outside, and silent. Far too silent. There’s a _stillness_ to the atmosphere that is not even remotely natural. 

He cannot see her, but he can sense her, a cold brush on the edges of his perception, familiar and lingering. His lips press into a thin line of irritation. 

_Abigail._  

Her sudden presence here is a surprise, not exactly a pleasant one. 

It takes him only a second to pinpoint her location on the periphery of the woods and he knows that she is watching them both from where she’s lurking. He walks a little closer to Hannibal than he normally would as they make their way towards the house. The dogs greet them with their usual enthusiasm and Will wonders what Abigail would make of their obvious familiarity with Hannibal. She would most likely draw the correct conclusion; she is, after all, quite shrewd. As for her reaction, well, it should at least be entertaining. 

Until recently, his kitchen was only sparsely stocked, containing just the few items necessary to project a sense of normalcy. It’s not like he actually eats. But after he let Hannibal into this sphere of his life, there’s been a fair amount of pointless improvement in its state. 

_Playing human with such dreary frequency. The things I do for you, Hannibal…_

Yes, he will definitely regret losing this man. 

Hannibal doesn’t take long and though Will knows quite well that the coffee was hardly something the doctor needed, he doesn’t say anything to that effect. In truth, he finds himself unreasonably pleased when he escorts Hannibal back to his car. 

All too conscious of Abigail’s invisible gaze, he thrusts Hannibal against the door of his car and crashes their mouths together, kissing him hard and deep, stroking a hand delicately over the side of his neck. 

He likes Abigail well enough but he does not trust her, not when he knows her as well as he does. This is both the staking of his claim and a warning. 

_This one’s mine._

He goes back inside once the taillights of Hannibal’s car disappears from view, grinning at the memory of the doctor’s delightfully flushed face, and waits. 

She doesn’t keep him waiting for long. 

Her appearance differs somewhat from the last time he saw her. Not really surprising, since that was over seventy years ago. Her hair is shorter and curled at the ends. Her blue-grey eyes are wide with joy and a hint of fear, which is typical of every one of their interactions. It all makes her look unfathomably young. 

Will cocks his head at her expectantly. 

“Hey, dad,” she chirps, voice light and cheerful. He fights down a sigh at the address. Last time, it was ‘Papa’. 

“To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your company, Abigail?” He drawls and her eyes flit away from him to take in the dogs, all of them keeping a wary distance from her, watching with hostile gazes. Canines- and animals in general- prefer to stay the hell away from their kind, their ingrained instincts unable to accept the perversions of life and death that are vampires. It took him quite a great amount of time to tame each one of his strays and add it to his pack. 

“I haven’t seen you in so long. I wanted to, so I came.” 

What an unlucky coincidence that her impulsive visit coincided with Hannibal’s presence here. 

Will smiles none too pleasantly and takes a step towards her, coldly amused when Abigail freezes in response, a distant sort of terror filling her eyes. Her decision to willingly tie herself to him after she was turned surprised him back then, especially as it was glaringly evident that she was terrified of him. Even now, she inexplicably continues to do so, seeking him out again and again despite the fact that her fear of him is no less strong. Will thinks of her mad father from whom he freed her and the way she simply chose a different form of bondage of her own accord. And he thinks that, perhaps, it is the only way she knows how to exist. 

Some things, once broken, can never truly be fixed. That seems particularly true for minds, whether human or _Other_. 

And his self-proclaimed daughter is certainly broken. 

He would pity her if it were not for the way she simply accepted herself, not with resignation, but with an affection of sorts. Abigail knows who she is, what she is and she is content. He is proud of her; of this lovely creature that rose from the ashes of a helpless little human girl. 

However, pride and pale affection does not prevent him from thriving on that fear. Nor does it curb his annoyance at her timing. 

He comes to a stop in front of Abigail and reaches out with a hand to faintly stroke his knuckles over one smooth, porcelain cheek. The look in her eyes is still a curious mix of delight and fright but her lips twitch into a small but genuine smile at the gesture. 

“I’m afraid you picked a rather inconvenient time to visit, _cherie._ ” Will tells her with a false sigh. “I do hope you will not cause any unnecessary trouble.” 

A frown mars her expression, no doubt because she is all too aware of precisely why this is an inconvenient time, but she nods nonetheless. 

“Good. How long do you intend to stay?” 

“A couple of days. That is, if you don’t mind?” She replies, covering his hand with her own, fixing him a pleading, hopeful look that would melt the hearts of most, especially humans. Will feels only amusement at her attempts at manipulation, though it _is_ something which she excels in. He does not truly mind her brief stint at his home, his concern is solely for what she might be inclined to do during that time. 

“I don’t mind. But as I said Abigail, no unnecessary trouble.” 

“Who was he?” She asks suddenly and bites her lip- such a human gesture, definitely practiced and deliberate- when he raises an eyebrow in reply. But she doesn’t back off and holds his gaze steadily. He’s always been a little impressed by how her ever-present fear almost never stopped her from interacting with him in a fairly normal, and often insolent, manner. 

“A colleague. Of sorts.” 

“He’s _human_.” 

“Yes, I am aware of that.” His voice remains low and calm, but his hand slides out from under hers to gently- for now- curl around the back of her neck. Abigail blinks, wariness flashing in her eyes, but she does not as much as twitch otherwise. 

_Good girl._

“You’re lovers.” She states, the frown growing, and her next words are faintly accusatory. “ _Why_ are you lovers? You deplore humans, you _never_ bed them.” 

She is as light as a feather and feels almost as fragile when he spins her around and pulls her against him, her back pressed to his front, his hand now curved tight around her throat. 

“What can I say, he is special. Very much so.” He locks his free arm around her narrow waist and bends to rest his chin on her shoulder, grinning when he feels her swallow against the hand. 

“But why?” She whispers, sounding quiet and far too young. Like a child, almost. 

“I find him interesting.” He answers, squeezing her throat to rob her of the air she has no need for, long fingers digging into cool flesh. “Just as I found you interesting once. And Abigail, I know you have this unfortunate habit of killing humans I interact with during your visits. While I accept that that’s your way of presenting me with gifts… if you so much as touch this one, _I’ll rip your heart out._ He is _mine._ To fuck or kill as I please. Understand, _cherie_?” 

Abigail lets out a noise that sounds like a whimper and nods once, the movement restricted by Will’s hold on her throat. 

He knows that Abigail is insecure, strange as it sounds. She is fully aware of how Will’s interest in her is motivated by curiosity and fascination rather than any semblance of ‘love’. It is completely natural for her to want to ensure that that interest remains unscathed and uncontested. 

And while her tendency to kill at least one human among his acquaintances whenever she calls on him is not something that he _should_ condone, he has not truly minded so far. She is, after all, quite amusing in her desperate, often illogical actions. 

But then again, Hannibal is different. 

“You’re going to turn him, aren’t you?” She asks, visibly not thrilled by the idea but resigned nonetheless. 

Will opens his mouth to deny it, to say that he has no such designs on the human, that he will kill Hannibal one day, drain him dry and savor every drop… but the words die on his tongue, leaving behind a taste that reminds him of ash and fire. 

He releases Abigail abruptly and flings her away from him, causing the dogs to stir in unrest. 

The prospect of turning Hannibal was not one he even considered until now. He always saw their path leading inevitably to the man’s death, lamentable as it would be. And now… now he feels like a fool for not even imagining this option. 

And he doesn’t know whether to thank Abigail profusely or tear into her slender neck for planting that seed in his mind. 

He does neither. 

“I haven’t decided.” He says instead, voice clipped, already knowing that he will soon find himself spending many hours contemplating nothing but this new possibility. 

For now though, he has his ‘daughter’ to deal with. 

“Now that that’s settled, why don’t I take you hunting?” he asks, twisting his lips up into a wide smirk, all of the menace from earlier lifting smoothly from his countenance. “It has been far too long since we’ve gone out together.” 

Abigail laughs, a breezy sound reminiscent of wind chimes, and assents. 

Her eyes are beautiful with love and terror as he takes her hand in his and leads her outside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Abigail’s characterization… what.have.I.done? 
> 
> (And ok, added all the tags I need to add.)


	8. fatal attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal are as close as they can be with the multitude of secrets between them… and things are starting to draw to a close. 
> 
> _It’s been almost seven months now. They are both, in their own ways, steadily running out of patience._
> 
> _Hannibal will not continue to be content with Will knowing only a tame facet of him for much longer._
> 
> _And Will is not sure how much longer he can suppress his more lethal urges._
> 
> __Below, you will find an eerie mix of sentimentality and disturbingly obsessive feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 6 weeks after the previous chapter.

It is in the early hours of the morning that Hannibal returns, sliding back into bed beside Will, as silent as a ghost. Will pretends to wake then, lids opening halfway to reveal too-alert eyes and humming vaguely to attract his human’s attention. After all, Hannibal doesn’t know that he cannot _truly_ sleep. That even though he can adopt a pale approximation of slumber, his evolved instincts and heightened senses will never allow his body and mind to fully relax. 

Even the sedative he knew Hannibal slipped into his tasteless wine right before they retired last night had no effect whatsoever on him. In fact, he was fully aware and both annoyed and amused when the man sneaked out of bed a mere hour after Will presumably fell asleep. 

He knows, with iron certainty, that a Ripper victim will be found tomorrow. 

“Hannibal?” He mumbles, forcing his voice to sound thick with sleep, when lean arms wrap around him, Hannibal’s skin delightfully warm in contrast to Will’s perpetually cool flesh. 

“Where’d you go?”  He whispers and allows Hannibal to pull him close against his body. He is stripped down to his boxers as he was before his sudden excursion in the middle of the night and his body feels familiar- far too familiar- when pressed to Will’s, the two of them fitting together seamlessly. 

“I was just downstairs, Will.” Hannibal lies smoothly, punctuating it with a feather-light kiss to Will’s forehead. “I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you, darling?” 

Will doesn’t respond, instead burying his face in the crook of his human’s neck and breathing in deep, sighing in pleasure as Hannibal’s scent fills him. It’s relatively new, the other man’s habit of referring to him using endearments. He doesn’t mind, not really, but he can’t help but think of how the layers upon layers of secrets between the two of them destroy the sanctity of such sweet words. 

And he is never entirely pleased when these thoughts remind him that their complex little courtship will soon come to an end. 

It’s been almost seven months now. They are both, in their own ways, steadily running out of patience. 

Hannibal will not continue to be content with Will knowing only a tame facet of him for much longer. 

And Will is not sure how much longer he can suppress his more lethal urges. 

Hannibal’s kills have been escalating, they’re not reckless by any means but they have been getting increasingly personal in small, subtle ways that only Will and the man himself can understand. He knows they’re meant for him; gifts and warnings both. A part of the human wants to consume Will (the irony of his own desire reflected in such a way is not lost on him) but a larger part of the doctor just wants Will to see, to _accept_ Hannibal- man and monster and everything in between. Even then, every survival instinct Hannibal possesses fights against that wish, deeming- correctly- that Will is too much of a threat. Yet, he feels a genuine fondness for Will, a real desire to keep him by his side. 

The end result is a rather conflicted, particularly dangerous cannibal and a situation that would have been extremely precarious to Will’s life had he been human. 

But as things stand, Will knows that the inevitable confrontation will only elicit a violent response from him. It wouldn’t even matter how Hannibal reacts. Once the Chesapeake Ripper is exposed, this mirage of a life they’ve constructed _will_ fall apart. 

He has been _so_ patient, holding himself back _so_ much for so _long_. Too long. 

He will break, soon. And Hannibal will die. 

Though what type of death he wants to provide the human, Will doesn’t know. The confusion is enough to make him imagine what it’d be like if he just left now, left this life behind to embark upon another as he has countless times before. He could do it, leave and never see Jack or Alana or _Hannibal_ ever again. He _could_ , but it is a preposterous possibility he will never really consider. 

Because his regard for Hannibal is no less complicated or intense than the human’s for him. He has never been so deeply, hopelessly intrigued by someone as he has been by this man. And the even mere idea of disappearing forever from Hannibal’s life and leaving him _unmarked_ is unbearable. 

No, this can only end in one of two ways, both as destructive and dangerous as the other. A choice between true death and an imitation of life. 

The thought of feeding on Hannibal until he’s an empty husk is no longer as appealing as it was once. A world without Hannibal in it will not be even remotely interesting, he’s certain. 

And ever since Abigail brought up the idea of turning him, Will has not been able to stop thinking about the possibility. Oh, he wants it, wants the man as his companion for eternity. He knows he will never tire of Hannibal. He’s never entertained the idea of a mate before, but now…

Yet, he knows all too well how the transformation can affect humans, _changing_ them in fundamental and unexpected ways, eradicating their humanity and drawing the darkness that lies buried in the depths of their soul to the surface. And while Will is sure that death will suit Hannibal beautifully, he does fear that their compatibility will wane once Hannibal is turned, much like it happened with him and Molly. And he knows that he will end up killing the man anyway if he cannot have him. 

Hannibal is _his._

And will remain so till the end. 

“I can hear you thinking, Will.” Hannibal murmurs into his ear and though there’s a smile in his voice, Will can hear a faint undercurrent of tension. He imagines that Hannibal can sense it too, the end of _them_ looming near; a heavy, ominous presence pervading every moment of their lives. 

_Tick-tock, tick-tock._

_Our relationship has become something of a time bomb._

“Thinking of you.” Will replies truthfully. He shifts so that he is splayed half on top of Hannibal’s warm, solid body. 

“What of me?” 

And in a moment of spontaneous openness, Will answers him, affectionate and sincere. 

“About how much you matter to me.” 

Hannibal doesn’t respond but his entire body tenses for a moment before he relaxes again with a faint sigh. Will smiles and slides down until his head rests against the human’s chest. He lays his head directly above Hannibal’s heart, listening to the strong, steady beats that have become familiar in the last few months. 

He drifts, imagining what it’d be like to feel that smooth rhythm falter and die. 

And he wonders what Hannibal would taste like if he were to drink from his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The setting for this chapter was actually Entity’s idea. :-) 
> 
> Next up: The Wound Man, some misunderstandings and Will losing his cool. And sex.


	9. kiss or kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end. And a beginning. 
> 
> _“You are making it extremely hard not to rip off your clothes and fuck you against your precious antique desk, doctor.”_
> 
> _Hannibal’s outward reaction to his words is limited to the slight widening of his pupils and the quickening of his breathing, but Will can see that the suggestion is as appealing to the human as it is to him. Hannibal may have initially set out to seduce Will in order to further involve himself in his life, but so far, the good doctor has been quite eager to let Will do as he pleased with him._
> 
> (And somewhat dubious consent towards the end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 2 weeks after the previous chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is disproportionally long. Hehe.

Hannibal makes a half-hearted sound of protest when Will crowds him against the door the second it falls shut behind them but responds all too eagerly when he pushes their lips together in a hungry kiss. Will presses his body to the firm, familiar lines of Hannibal’s as their mouths move together, holding him with as much care as he can muster. 

The doctor makes another muffled noise against his lips and wrenches his mouth away to breathlessly gasp, “Will, stop. This is your therapy hour.” 

Will chuckles but doesn’t release the other man, nuzzling the side of his neck and scenting him with deep, searing breaths. He slides his hands down Hannibal’s sides, over corded muscles covered by layers of soft, expensive clothes, and resists the urge to rip it all off then and there. 

_I truly do not believe that I will ever get tired of you._

Hannibal lets out a shuddering breath when Will’s teeth snare his earlobe, tugging hard, and the hands trying to reluctantly push him away instead fist in his shirt. Will pulls back with a teasing bite to the supple flesh and raises a hand to run his fingertips along the human’s slightly swollen lips. 

“You always say that this is _my_ time. That I can do whatever I want? What if I want to spend it ravishing you?” he asks Hannibal and chuckles at the mixture of desire and exasperation that crosses his face before finally backing off. 

So far, their weekly sessions have remained unaffected by their more unprofessional activities save for a few kisses here and there. At Hannibal’s insistence of course. And though he relentlessly teases the man for it, Will doesn’t truly mind. Discussing cases with Hannibal is almost as delightful as fucking him.  

“The Ripper struck again.” Will says as Hannibal makes his way over to his customary seat, meticulously straightening his hair and clothes as he does so. Will chooses to simply lean against a wall, eyes fixed intently on his human. 

“So soon? His last one was merely two weeks ago.” Hannibal responds, tilting his head to the side in a somewhat puzzled manner. He is calm, serene, as if they are not talking about his own escalating kills. As if he did not drug Will all of two weeks ago while he sneaked out to kill and display a young nurse of twenty-five. Will wants to smile but he keeps his face blank. As if the middle-aged accountant found eviscerated and displayed in his own home today is in no way connected to him. 

“Yeah, more bodies are dropping. With increasing frequency. It’s quite a significant shift from the Ripper’s known M.O, but it’s him. And _something_ has got him all worked up.” 

_I’ve got you all worked up._

_You want me to see. To keep seeing. Even though you don’t know you’ll do when I do. You’re playing a lethal game, Hannibal._

_Just like me._

“Do you know what it is?” 

“I don’t know.” Will lies with a shrug. “And that’s driving Jack crazy.” 

Hannibal smiles perfunctorily but his eyes are fixed on Will with razor sharp focus. He no longer struggles to read the doctor as he did once and the contrasting blend of interest and caution coloring those intense eyes brings a slight quirk to his lips. 

“Tell me, Will, what makes you so sure that this is the Ripper? You yourself said that these recent murders deviate significantly from his previous ones.” 

Will sighs and shakes his head in genuine exasperation. Hannibal has questioned him in a similar manner nearly every time he’s named the Ripper as the killer responsible. And as time passed and their relationship progressed, these queries’ purpose seemed to shift from a simple desire to see himself through Will’s eyes to an actual need to prolong the inevitable. 

_My dear conflicted cannibal._

Although he can certainly identify with Hannibal on this particular matter. The thought of their dance finally coming to an end fills Will with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation as well. 

“How can I not be sure?” Will begins, finding himself indulging his human once again with a feeling that can only be called fondness. He abandons his place by the wall in favor of leisurely sauntering around the room. “How can I ever mistake the Chesapeake Ripper?” 

_I can sense you in every tortured cry of pain, every drop of blood spilled and every strip of flesh taken._

“He is unique; an exemplary artist who paints with blood and flesh and death. The world is his hunting ground and it is his right to slaughter those he deems unworthy. And his mind… it’s _brilliant._ He’s not a psychopath or a sociopath or anything that can be confined to such mundane labels. He’s something else entirely; something unseen and unpredictable. A truly extraordinary creature.” 

_We’re quite alike in many ways, mon trésor._

For a long moment heavy with words not yet ready to be uttered, Hannibal doesn’t respond and Will turns away from the doctor to hide his smirk. He’s never before been this flamboyant while profiling the Ripper and though he was utterly sincere in his praise, he can see how the admiration he let color his words might have confused Hannibal. 

He would like to press these words into his human’s skin one day, tell him how Will has always seen him and how _gorgeous_ he is. 

Hannibal finally speaks and for all his apparent composure, the hoarseness tainting his voice is crystal clear to Will, sending a primal thrill through him. 

“You sound like you’re in love.” 

Will blinks, once, at the words and his smirk turns into something softer. He splays a hand over the stack of sketches on the small table in front of him, not turning around even when he hears Hannibal get up from his chair to approach him. 

_I can’t love, Hannibal. But what I feel for you is the closest thing to it I am capable of._

_A twisted, blackened version of affection._

For a second, he considers telling Hannibal that he knows. That he sees. He considers ending this right now. 

The thoughts lingers even as his lips part to say something else entirely. 

“I admire him, in a way. He has perfected his craft. That is surely worthy of commendation.” 

He absently traces the dark lines of the topmost drawing, the impeccable rendition of the Sistine Chapel from before and listens to the sharp breathing of the human behind him. 

“Jack Crawford would not agree with you.” 

“Jack Crawford does not see the world the way I do.” 

Will idly sorts through the sketches only to pause when he comes across one of himself. 

He’s seated on what appears to be a throne, the simple elegance of it clashing harshly with his usual attire of jeans and plaid. His face is set into an expression of utter serenity; eyes closed and head tilted back to bare his throat. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone to reveal a sliver of skin. There are flower petals scattered at his feet and his mind conjures up images of blood red roses scattered amongst bleached white bones. 

The overall effect is far more sensual than it has any right to and Will exhales in an appreciative sigh as tendrils of desire begin to spread through him. 

He grabs the piece and a handful of others under it and turns, only to find Hannibal watching him with that familiar sly quirk to his mouth. 

“You are making it extremely hard not to rip off your clothes and fuck you against your precious antique desk, _doctor_.” 

Hannibal’s outward reaction to his words is limited to the slight widening of his pupils and the quickening of his breathing, but Will can see that the suggestion is as appealing to the human as it is to him. Hannibal may have initially set out to seduce Will in order to further involve himself in his life, but so far, the good doctor has been quite eager to let Will do as he pleased with him. 

Except for the ‘no-sex-during-therapy’ rule but he’s starting to doubt that it is going to hold for long. 

“I would rather you did not,” Hannibal replies and his voice almost sounds unaffected. _Almost._ “I have lost far too many excellent suits to your… enthusiasm.” 

“ _My_ enthusiasm? I don’t recall you being all that reluctant, Hannibal.” 

The comment garners him a wide smirk that he returns with one of his own before retuning his attention to the drawings in his hands. He flips through them, eyes roving over palaces and citadels… when a drastically different sketch catches his gaze and he freezes. 

_Wound man. Fasciculus Medicinae, 1492._

Will is somewhat familiar with the illustration. 

He is even more familiar with the case file of Jeremy Olmstead. 

The Chesapeake Ripper’s sixth victim, found in his workshop, impaled with his own tools. The painting is a near replica of the kill, even the face bears some resemblance to the dead man. 

_Reckless, Hannibal._

Later, he will wonder if he purposefully allowed his reaction to be so obvious in a subconscious attempt to push things forward. _Nature_ finally taking over. 

But at that moment, when he looks up and sees a curiously blank expression on Hannibal’s face as he continues to watch Will, he feels regret and zeal war within him at the prospect of the end. 

He sets the papers back on the table without taking his eyes off Hannibal, mind working a mile a minute to decide on the next course of action. He could deal with this without revealing himself to the human. William Graham is no saint, a fact they’re both well aware of. It would be entirely possible to convince Hannibal that Will is too ‘attached’ to him to turn him in. It’s not even that far from the truth. 

But… he doesn’t _want_ to. 

Will has always seen this particular confrontation as his breaking point. 

And he truly is eager to end this farce once and for all. So that he can pave the way for their new lives. 

“What now, Will?” Hannibal asks, a twinge of sorrow in his voice. 

“You tell me.” Will deflects, taking a single step forward and licking his lips when the doctor’s entire body tenses, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. He’s already a predator. He would make a fine vampire. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Will. In fact, I would like for us to go on as before.” 

“And just ignore your extracurricular activities? Hmm… I can do that.” He takes a moment to enjoy the skeptic surprise in Hannibal’s eyes before adding, “You’re not going to hurt me, Hannibal.” 

Another step forward and Will is aware of the way his movements become subtly menacing, bits of the monster inside peaking though. Hannibal frowns but stands his ground, sensitive to the sudden shift in the atmosphere but not fully comprehending. 

“But I’m afraid that I’m not too interested in going on as before. That would far too… dull.” He keeps on going until their bodies are nearly touching. Hannibal remains unmoving, warily watching Will’s progress and mulling over his words. 

He cups Hannibal’s face with both hands and leans in to kiss him, just a faint touch of lips. He lets his eyes fall shut as he whispers against the other’s lips, “I would like to avoid hurting you as well.” 

Hannibal’s mouth curls against his in a smile, amused by the insinuation that Will would be able to do anything of the sort. He kisses him again, a little harder this time, making a displeased hum when the other does not reciprocate. He slides his hand to Hannibal’s shoulder’s, purposefully keeping the touch light, and pulls back, eyes flashing open, brilliant red in place of oceanic blue. 

Before Hannibal can react beyond a startled gasp, Will grips him hard by the shoulders and _shoves._ The doctor doesn’t quite crash into his desk, but the impact is jarring nonetheless and it takes a moment for him to steady himself. That moment is more than enough for Will to be upon him, roughly hauling the man onto the desk. 

Will drops his head to hover over Hannibal’s pulse and breathes in, joyously savoring the adrenaline-amplified scent. 

He does not even feel the scalpel until it is buried deep within his chest. 

A soft sound of surprise escapes him and then, he _laughs_. 

“I knew you would put up a fight.” He whispers fondly, easily drawing the blade out of his body and throwing the bloodied thing to the floor. He can feel his flesh healing, knitting back together even as stolen blood seeps into his shirt. He presses a palm to the wound and moves to cup Hannibal’s face with the same one, smearing bright blood over the human’s shocked visage. “If you meant any less to me, I would have hunted you; threw you in the woods and chased you. We would’ve had so much fun.” 

A fantasy he indulged in not too long ago flares to life in his mind and Will pushes Hannibal further down to the desk, until his torso is almost flattened along the smooth surface. 

“What are you?” Despite the fact that Will’s human mask is completely discarded by this point, there is no fear in Hannibal’s voice. His eyes bore into Will’s without faltering, intense brown against pulsing scarlet. 

_Remarkable human._

Will feels his body thrum with excitement, all of his regret fading away as the softer parts of him are banished from his mind. 

“Nothing human.” 

Will smiles, dark and predatory, and leans over until his mouth is poised right over Hannibal’s parted one. 

“You asked if I’m in love with you. I can’t love, Hannibal. But I do _want_.” 

He doesn’t kiss Hannibal, descending on him instead savagely, elongated teeth tearing into full lips and lapping vigorously at the liquid that flows forth. The human jerks under him but the moment the blood hits his tongue, Will is lost. 

Not even the numerous hours he’s spent imagining precisely this could have prepared Will for Hannibal’s taste. 

The blood explodes on his palette, sending jolts of sheer ecstasy racing through his body. Hannibal is sweet and tart and bitter and dark; the flavor so unique and overwhelming that it rips a wanton moan from deep inside Will. 

It takes every ounce of self restraint he has ever possessed to wrench himself away from Hannibal without biting off his lips and Will’s entirely body _trembles_ with need as scorching heat floods his system. 

The hardness between his legs comes as no surprise. Neither does the obvious bulge tenting Hannibal’s pants. 

The doctor’s eyes are large and black with helpless arousal and a mélange of conflicting emotions. His breaths escape in harsh gasps and his mouth is still parted invitingly, torn and bloody from Will’s assault. 

“I know it’s the cannibalism… but you do taste absolutely _divine._ ” 

Hannibal swallows and prepares to say something but Will quiets him with a kiss that is wilder than any they have shared before. Hannibal’s lips still bleed sluggishly, adding a whole new dimension to it. The human does not resist and moves his mouth in tandem with Will’s, clutching at his torn shirt. 

Will thinks of how he once thought that he'd kiss Hannibal one last time before killing him and nearly bursts out laughing at his own naivety. How could he ever have thought that anything would be so easy with this one? 

He feels drunk by the time they part and he nuzzles against Hannibal’s cheek, tongue flicking out to trace the sharp curve. The man beneath him remains still, though the scent of his arousal rises to mingle with that of his blood. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Hannibal. Wanted _you,_ with no pretense between us.” 

He feels Hannibal tense under him, body coiling to prepare to throw Will off him but in a moment too fast for normal eyes to follow, he drags the man off the desk and spins him around so that he’s standing with his back pressed flush against Will’s front, trapped in a cage of steely limbs. 

“Don’t do that, mon cher. Not now. I have no wish to cause you pain. I know you’re powerful but you’re still only human. You can’t win, not against me.” Will is aware of the fervor lacing his voice and words, exhilaration giving them a manic edge. 

“What exactly do you intend to do, William?” Hannibal asks in a casual manner that betrays neither fear nor anxiety at his predicament. Will buries his hair in the ashen strands atop the other’s head with a grin, tightening his mockery of an embrace. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says and slides a hand down Hannibal’s front to palm his erection through the soft fabric of his pants. Hannibal gasps at the touch, body tensing further and Will knows that he’s trying not to arch into his hand. 

“And afterwards?” 

“Afterwards… I suppose I’ll have to kill you.” 

He doesn’t mention that the death he’s referring to isn’t the normal kind. 

Will remains like that, one hand still pressed tight against Hannibal’s groin, waiting for the man to react. When Hannibal finally relaxes into his hold and turns his face to seek Will’s lips in a questioning kiss, Will knows that it is not a sign of meek acceptance of the somber fate he has predicted but a calculated temporary surrender. 

He wonders if Hannibal still has any true idea what he’s gotten himself into. 

“I guess your suit isn’t going to survive after all.” He says when they part and proceeds to rip the layers of expensive fabric shrouding Hannibal’s torso in one smooth movement. Enhanced strength can be handy in situations like this. Hannibal makes a dismayed noise that turns into a low moan when Will starts massaging him through his pants, grinding his own erection against Hannibal’s clothed ass at the same time. 

Will trails feather light kisses along the newly exposed line of Hannibal’s shoulders and up his neck to close his teeth none too gently around his ear. He turns him around again to kiss him, gentler than the previous times. 

“You should know,” he murmurs against torn lips, “That before you, I have never mixed food with sex.” 

The rest of their clothes follow the same way as the jacket and shirt, Will ripping off chunks of clothing as he licks his way into Hannibal’s pliant mouth. He was meant to accompany Hannibal to his home after therapy for dinner and more, which is the only reason why he has a bottle off lubricant stashed in his jeans. Both of them had a habit of ambushing the other in the strangest of places and since he always loathed letting Hannibal out of his grasp once they got started, Will took to carrying around the necessary equipment whenever they met. 

He’s never before been this happy about that. 

He truly does not want to cause Hannibal any unwanted pain. 

He’s as gentle as he can be- which isn’t really much- as he lifts Hannibal onto the desk, urging him to lay flat on his back. He hastily coats his two of his fingers in lube and massages Hannibal’s entrance. The man remains stoic, seemingly unaffected save for his blown pupils and harsh breathing. Will bends to place an open-mouthed kiss at the corner of his mouth, running his tongue along the raw flesh of his lips and pushes a finger inside him, smirking at Hannibal’s faint hiss. He moves the digit in and out a few times before adding a second. Hannibal groans low in his throat when Will increases his pace, thrusting and scissoring his fingers inside the human, spreading him open. One of Hannibal’s hands finds its way into Will’s hair and pulls hard as he deepens their kiss, moaning in part-surprise, part-pleasure as a tongue slides along his elongated canines to press against his gums. 

Will pulls back with a strangled gasp; eyes flitting to Hannibal’s to gauge his reaction. They are wide and dark, pulsing with shades upon shades of things yet to be defined. A true, guileless manifestation of the glorious darkness that thrives right beneath Hannibal Lecter’s conscientious facade. 

There is no mask here, no veil separating man from monster. And Will smiles, sharp and unfettered, at the sight. He bites down on his own lips and his fangs slice deep, a faint trail of red panting his chin before the incisions close on their own.  Hannibal’s eyes inexplicably grow darker at that, flashing with a hunger that is not truly that different from Will’s own. 

He unceremoniously adds another finger, never taking his eyes off Hannibal’s face. He curls them inside the man, brushing his prostate and Hannibal’s lips draw back in a wild snarl, exposing sharp white teeth. Will repeats the action again and again until Hannibal starts panting and clenching around him, lids fluttering in a most enthralling manner. 

Will takes him in; the sharp lines of his body, splayed out over the desk with a thin sheen of perspiration, his face twisted into an expression that would frighten most, the manic light in his eyes- a blend of lust and hunger and fury… and the breath that Will does not need catches in his throat at the sheer beauty of it all. 

_Perfection._

“You are magnificent,” Will whispers, leaning forward once more to kiss him, allowing the human to lap up the blood staining his skin. “And I’m not letting you go.” 

Hannibal frowns but doesn’t protest and Will imagines that his brilliant human is still biding his time and enjoying himself while he’s at it. He laughs lightly and removes his fingers from inside Hannibal who makes a low sound of displeasure. He grabs the lube from the table to coat his length, flushed and hard. Will maneuvers Hannibal’s long, firm legs over his shoulders and lines himself against his entrance. He steadily starts to push inside, nails digging in like talons to Hannibal’s hips. It’s even more of a struggle to restrain himself now than it has ever been before but no matter how intense his desire to just mindlessly fuck into Hannibal is, he knows he can’t, not while the body joined with his is still so human. 

_For now._

Hannibal resolutely does not make a sound until he bottoms out but he does cry out when Will curls a hand around his erection, squeezing ever so slightly. Will takes a moment to simply feel the wonderful heat of Hannibal all around him before he starts moving, rocking his hips against the other’s and stroking his cock. 

He goes slow at first, teasing himself as much as Hannibal, but then Hannibal pushes back against him, his heels digging into Will’s back and _growls_ in a voice thick with desire for Will to just _move_ and he does, pulling back out before snapping forward sharply, burying himself deep inside his human with every frantic thrust. He ruthlessly pumps Hannibal in time with the fucking, scarping his nails along the underside in a way that makes the man arch his back and moan, loud and wanton. 

He loves Hannibal like this, stripped bare of his defenses into a writhing mess of pure need. He loves the way he growls and groans, wordlessly demanding with his entire body for more. He loves the way he calls Will’s name when he comes as if it’s the holiest prayer in existence. 

“I’m sorry,” Will grits out, though the words are far from sincere, pressing his face to the crook of Hannibal’s neck. He starts stroking faster, robbing the other of his chance to respond to the ominous apology. Hannibal comes with a shout, calling out for Will. He fucks Hannibal through his orgasm, groaning when he clenches around him, thrusting with as much force as he dares. Will threads the hand not resting on Hannibal’s limp cock trough the human’s pale hair to yank his head back and bare his throat. 

As if sensing the impending danger through the bliss of his climax, Hannibal jerks against him, vainly trying to push him away. Will holds him down and lays soft kisses up and down the line of his throat, brushing the sharp tips of his fangs along the delicate skin. He lifts his head long enough to meet Hannibal’s narrowed gaze … before bearing down and plunging his teeth into the offered flesh. 

Will comes with his fangs buried deep in Hannibal’s neck, the human’s resounding scream causing him to shudder violently and empty himself, _connected_ to Hannibal so severely and intimately. 

This is different, so drastically and delightfully different, than the quick taste he had earlier. Blood- sweet and hot and _powerful_ \- rushes from Hannibal into Will, completely overriding the pleasure of his orgasm and filling him with vibrant life. He bites down harder, rashly tearing at the skin in blind hunger and more warm liquid flows into him, erasing all else from his mind. 

He’s dimly aware of how Hannibal is moaning and squirming against him, mind and body overcome with ecstasy, and how his own hand is softly stroking the human’s torso as if to soothe him. But it’s like his very existence is essentially reduced to the taste of Hannibal on his tongue; he can feel the blood soaring through his lifeless veins, spreading warmth to every inch of his body, filling him up. Will doesn’t stop- he can’t stop- and he sucks hard and harsh at his mouthful of flesh, greedily drinking, never wanting to stop. 

At first, he doesn’t really notice how the noises escaping Hannibal becomes faint and ragged but _something_ penetrates through his thick cloud of euphoria when Hannibal’s hand slides off Will’s hair and his body sags to the desk, neck still bared in forced supplication. 

Will nearly keeps going, his senses far too mudded with bloodlust for him to be even capable of anything approaching rationality but the same feeling that alerted him to Hannibal’s weakening state forces him to stop before he goes too far and makes this irreparable. 

He swipes his tongue over the torn skin on Hannibal’s throat, the strange chemicals in his system similar to the ones that lashed his prey with waves of intense pleasure working to clot the wound, not closing it but staunching the blood-flow enough to enable Will to pull away. 

Hannibal remains still on the desk, his chest rising and falling with dangerously shallow breaths, his eyes at half-mast and missing their usual sharpness. 

He looks so vulnerable like this, so… breakable. Human. 

_Gorgeous._

Will nuzzles along Hannibal’s cheek, breathing in his delectable scent one last time. He presses a kiss to the tip of his nose and draws back. 

“I’m keeping you.” 

Will brings his own palm to his mouth and drives his fangs into it in a smooth motion, barely feeling anything at the act. Blood, slightly more viscous than that of humans wells up from the twin punctures and he cups his hand to gather it. He tilts Hannibal’s head up with his other hand and places the bleeding one over the man’s open lips. 

“Drink.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m evil. I know. Oops. 
> 
> I’m planning a sequel…  ‘The adventures of vampire murder husbands.’ (Well, no, that’s not the actual title but it sums it up pretty well.) 
> 
> The lovely lactobacille actually drew that sketch of Will. You can find it [here](http://lactobacille.tumblr.com/post/97516478751/hes-seated-on-what-appears-to-be-a-throne-the).

**Author's Note:**

> Please point out any and all errors.
> 
>  _Kudos are love. Comments are true love._ Come say hi on [tumblr](http://silverangelfeathers.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Hunger Outmatched](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378709) by [victorine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine)




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